The Haunting
by ErmengardeSecret
Summary: L is dead, within 6 feet of soil, but that dirt remembers when the murderer's fingers dug into it; it remembers that skin. It remembers Light Yagami. At night something rises, to find that man; his obsession. LightxghostieL
1. Funeral

A/N: This story is almost completed in on my computer. It has short chapters but I'll be updating as quickly as I can until it's all uploaded. Ghostie LxLight for teh win!

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Funeral

Deep in the earth, through that regular six feet of soil, there is the place composed purely of heavy silence. Where what crawls eats and then with a sigh everything falls back. All the nails, all the sallow skin; no scrabbling at the splintered wood along the narrow crevices, only a thick tangle amongst the thronging harvesters of nature.

In an unmarked grave, in a country far from his birth and all that had ever touched him, known him, nurtured him; a faceless, nameless few. And now he is faceless too, eternally nameless; the corpse of L Lawliet. There is a dark coil somewhere which knows this name, on the lips of the wind which roars around this solitary place.

Only once, one last time, was there a flesh upon this place. The murderer who dug his nails into the soil, screaming without restraint, a mangled, confused cry while his hair tangled in the wind and caught his eyes. His fingers plunged deep into the earth, the dirt catching under his nails. The skin that was scratched from this man's hands is in this earth. It can taste him. It remembers.

Light screamed violently that day. His words sounded distant to himself; they were separated and distorted to his brain. They were wrong, his numb mind conceded, so very wrong. They didn't mean anything. They were the dust in his throat and he let the possession leave him, trembling down through him into the earth bellow. Then he was calm, limp, far receded inside his shell.

He had straightened up and walked away. The young man taking practiced steps through the graveyard. Dressed in his handsome suit.

When he had arrived home he had taken off that flattering, fitted clothing and had scrubbed at his nails; driving a fine brush under to remove all the dirt. It washed down the plug-hole; an angry mouth in the midst of a pure water vortex.

He leant forward to press his head against the glass and ran his fingers through his hair and his breath misted against the clear surface. Then he withdrew and the mark slowly disappeared from the mirror. And slowly the years faded away.


	2. It waits

It waits

That grave stands in a solitary position, a supreme level of isolation that was not even achieved by the occupant when he was breathing. No visitors come. The grey stone stands as a monument to one terrible sin.

During the day sometimes people pass by, there is witnessed a young girl laying flowers on her grandmother's grave. She is a pretty little thing, yes, that sentiment hangs in the air, in a little red dress and perfect little pigtails. A sweet Japanese red-riding-hood, the observation crunches under her patent leather shoes. Does she love Kira now?

And that is all that really shakes under her steps, that memory that lies where that man's skin wrenched itself into the soil, buried now, Light Yagami, among those mottled bones and that shuddering.

At night the wind howls, it cries out, it screams, it sighs through the boughs of the trees, it whispers delicately through parted leaves, then, then, it echoes in footsteps upon the street. Moving through the dark, glistening light of Tokyo, the heavy breath, through empty streets. Newspapers rustle and then one lone person passes by but there is nothing disturbed in this city for there is only one thought, one memory, one thought, one directive, one imperative, one purpose, one person.

And it passes with a sigh gently and then there is silence, there was always just the silence, the empty silence, all the way along to the expensive Tokyo apartment complex.


	3. The First visitation

The first visitation

It is nearly four years past since L Lawliet's death. His grave may be unattended but there is a subtler place of tribute to his memory, upon clean, precisely ruled lines, the two single words: his name. Now and again Light turns to that place where the name is written. It is his own little compulsion. He smiles smoothly but he does not enjoy it; something in him is sick. He does it almost every day for a time, always in private, if Misa, his little dearest darling, happens home, he hides his attention. His mouth runs dry and he feels the sickness in his stomach, the one that his mind will not recognize.

It is almost three months since Light last read the note when it first begins. He is clean, he is calm, he is in control. There has been nothing wrong in his world. Everything has been in order. Everything is in neat little lines on white pages. Then the breathing begins.

Light hears it when he lies in bed. He lies in the pitch-black darkness and listens to it. It is loud and clear. He lies still and counts the sounds; he dissects the tones of the woman who lies beside him easily. He forces his own vocalizations right down, bringing his breathing down to silence. And he can still hear it. He moves his hand up to cover his mouth, to be sure, a desperate action so carefully executed. He still hears it. He counts again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again. Even though the sound is so familiar to him, a sound that he'd recognize anywhere. It stirs in him those strong memories of that lucid confinement. He lies still and counts again and again and again and again. And he still counts three. He still hears three people breathing in that room.

Then he _feels it_. He feels it. HE FEELS IT. He feels it on his neck. The breath moves the little hairs to tickle at the sensitive skin. He really feels it. He lies there in the dark, trying to stifle his heartbeat, while the shock of this truth, this tangible truth, paralyses him. He lies still and just feels it; the breath on his neck.

Then there is a little dip in the covers. Then Light actually feels the sheets move, of their own accord, slowly and surely across his bare arms.

He shudders violently, shocked at his own body's reactions. He turns ever so slightly and with his innards aching he curls his fingers around the sheet and pulls it up again. He lies still. There is only this room. There is only the silence and Light Yagami cannot bear to move. He closes his eyes tightly, he tells himself, he tells the world, he pretends that he is asleep. But then he hears it loud, right in his ear, the warm disturbance wet at the curve of his ear; the breathing. The rough, regular breathing. Right there in his ear.

It moves away but he can feel it just there by his face and he can still hear it. He lies there for hours; wide-awake with his eyes shut tight, his body still. The breathing doesn't cease and Light doesn't know what is more frightening, the continuance or if it should stop suddenly and be gone.

The morning comes cold and dry, illuminating an empty room and Light Yagami lies still, eyes wide open for a little while longer before carefully he lifts himself off of the mattress and leaves the room, Misa still lying peacefully asleep on the other side of the bed.

In the bathroom Light runs water into the sink and he rubs his face. He pushes his fingers into his mouth and bites, he tightens his fingers around his hair and pulls, he digs his nails into his scalp and then scratches like he wants to tear his skin off. Then he cries. He sobs with his hands covering his face, he feels the tears burn and the cries rattle in his throat. He cries in desperation, misery and fear.

The running water masks the sounds he makes. He washes everything away. He greets a bouncing morning Misa with silence, with pure, smooth quiet. He dresses in front of the mirror, straightening his tie whilst the girl chatters away and then he leaves for Investigation headquarters; to chase his own tail.

That day was long and quiet and dry and normal. That evening he sat with Misa while she watched her favourite shows, he rested his arm around her and sat in silence beside her. Every night became the same though. Every night.


	4. Under his skin

Under his skin

Light feels the apparition. It is a physical visitation. There is the slightest tickling upon his skin, just like the tracing of fingers; it is the first touches that are the worst. It is the subtle way that the sheets shift their position that truly makes this man's blood run cold.

Sometimes there is light in the room, streaming in pale lines through the window. Then the room is full of shadows and, out of the corner of his eye, Light might see the smallest movement. There is no thrill higher then when, heart jerking and pumping right against his ribcage, he actually catches sight of a glittering in the shadows.

Mostly however it is physical. The touches run over his body while he lies still. He turns his head to one side as the touch runs over his throat. He shivers but forces himself still. Then the hands move down so gradually and then, then they slide into him, into his chest.

There are no words for how it feels to have those fingers _underneath_ his skin.

It is deep, it is warm, it is real. The substance that Light feels is flesh, it is tangible.

When Light feels that warm flesh sublimate, those hard coarse fingers in the cavity of his chest. He flinches and throws himself up, thrashing out against the sheets, throwing his arms round –

- and they collide with nothing. There is only air. He shivers, his breath catching in hysterical little pants. He gibbers. He runs his hands franticly over his skin, harshly over and over trying to brush it away, get it off of his skin. There is nothing there.

He wakes Misa with his breathing, his movements, his panicked actions. She learns over to him, cooing, whispering, reaching out to paw over him to ask what is wrong. He pushes her away, his actions rough, his voice raised, cruel; panic rage.

Don't touch me! Don't touch me! He slaps her and shoves her away from him. She curls up quietly, her eyes upon her lover. He can _feel_ her eyes on him while he hyperventilates. Her judging eyes.

And he can't calm. He can't. Not then.

His face in his hands, with the lights on, his breathing becomes even. He apologises. He tells her to sleep. She lies quietly and the darkness is resumed. Because there is nothing else to be done. And light lies in the silence. He hears Misa gradually get to sleep again. He closes his eyes and lies still –

As the fingers work their way over his spine.


	5. The Secret

The secret

Light continues his life. He cannot bear to share a bed with Misa any longer. He does not confide in her. He does not confide in anyone. He does not want her to see him at night. He tells her that he has started to see a therapist specializing in sleeping disorders to help him with his 'problem.' He does not say what the problem is and she does not ask. He knows she believes it is night terrors. His mouth goes dry when he sees the thoughts and perceptions in her eyes. He feels sick.

He does not see a therapist. He does not see anyone. He does not want to talk about it. He does not want to consider what it is. He does not want to consider what it could or couldn't be. The eyes of the rest of the world are not his eyes. He would rather rock shut in a tangle of sheets while he feels invisible fingers twisting in his hair and the scrape of teeth, unexpected, sharp, terrifying, on his skin.

There is only one being he aches to talk to and yet aches with the very idea of doing so. He will never never never never never ask the question. His eyes settle on that grinning pet of his own. He hates him. He wants to be sick at the sight of him and he dreads, above all, more than any other thing in his entire life, in his entire existence, with every fibre of his being, that this creature might one night trespass in his room while the visitation is upon him.

He locks every door now, he shuts up every window, covers all points with heavy shuttering. He fills every crack. The room is empty. The room is black. It is a cell now. It is a cell. It is a pit of darkness that is cut off from all the world. It is only comforting for Light to think of it is separate. It must be separate. It must be cut off. He thinks while he duct-tapes up all the cracks in the floorboards.

Now Light thinks about murdering Misa, truly murdering her. Not for his ideals, out of necessity or convenience but because she has been too close to him now. Her eyes have seen him when he is hollow, when he is tired, rash, near rough hysteria. She has seen what he has done to the bedroom. She hears him nailing up thick enforcements. She says goodnight to him every night. And looks at him.

She must die, Light cannot bear for her to live. He cannot bear for there to be a person living with eyes who have seen this and a mind that knows it. Even death is not enough. It is not enough. He almost needs it so that she was never born. He wants to scratch out her existence and all she has seen and known: like rough, violent lines of a pen across paper, erasing desperately, like a coin across a photograph. Nothing is enough nothing is enough now.

Once Misa is dead Light sits in the room as the light slowly dims and knows that it is not enough. As long as the world is pure outside this room though, as long as it is pure outside this house…


	6. Sublimation

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read this so far, please do review! This is the chapter where Light and his ghost L get 'intimate' and was harder to write than I expected. The style of haunting for this fanfic and the atmosphere was something I've tried to get just right so I really want to know what people think of it. One of the things about the story which was a bit hard for me to write how I wanted was L's perspective. I didn't want to ever say 'L thought this' or 'it did this' because I wanted it to be like his form is different now. Anywho so do review and tell me what you think!

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Sublimation

Light washes in the morning, he showers and scourers, he dresses in his expensive suits, he brushes his hair. He is neat. He is handsome. He is charming. He works calmly, efficiently, professionally. He socialises beautifully. The funeral for Misa was perfect, he cried softly to an extent that did not ruin his composure and his colleagues and friends sympathised pleasantly. He brought back lilies and lays them on the wooden sill in what was his bedroom. He stares at them desolately when he waits.

It doesn't mean anything. Or he doesn't know what it means. He wanted to see if it did mean anything. Whether there was a reaction to the flowers of mourning. He did not know what to expect.

Nothing was done though. Light had made the room so dark, he had tried so hard but when he woke he found all the shutters wrenched away so that in the night he could still see the shadows, the movement by the sill, the shape, the silhouette, as it moved across the room, closer towards him.

Then Light would look away and back again and sometimes it was gone. Sometimes it was still there. Sometimes he saw the eyes.

When it was gone, Light's eyes flitted about in panic.

Eventually he would lie still though. Then the sheets would shift. Tonight he feels the movement near his feet, the sheet move upwards and Light feels the sensation of being crawled over. The hands move along his sides.

Light closes his eyes and lies still and there is silence although he can still feel the presence against him. Sometimes he manages to just sleep, to just lie in silence and sleep. Not tonight though, not tonight.

He lies still and pretends. Then, when he has felt hours stretch on and nothing around his flesh has changed he opens his eyes…

…and sees him above him. His scrawl of black hair hiding part of his face, his glittering eyes. He is just staring at him. Just staring.

Light's eyes stare back. There is silence. There is always silence. Light never speaks, never tries. There are questions that ache inside him but he is always paralysed when this presence steals over him. There are too many questions that can be voiced.

Tonight however just one permeated through his brain as he stares up into that glittering black eyes; what do you want? What do you want? What do you want?

'What do you want?'

And it actually manages to leave him, in the quietest of whispers.

The expression is all he can see, all he catch now. The eyes just ache, the lips twist.

There is no such thing as wanting. There is hardly any distinct emotions. Only a drive. Just one thought, one imperative. It is absolute. Light. Light Yagami. Light. Light. Light. Light. Light. Light. Light.

Light feels the sensation of nails digging into his fingers, then a trembling in the air. Without any mental processes soliciting the motion Light finds himself reaching up with cold determination. His hand meets with something before him, he can no longer see anything, it is darkness, but he feels the weight, the warmth of a chest. It grows warmer and more sure under his hand. Softly he moves his hand upwards to touch at a neck, to feel the ripple of a jawline.

It is the first time Light has reached out to the ghost. His fingers, trembling, can really feel him in the darkness and he strokes, short measured motions.

There is a silent pause and then, then Light feels the sheets slip downwards upon him slightly and there is a rustling amongst him. Then he feels a tug at the material at his waist.

Marionette Light again; his shoulders tense, he is paralysed. Gently the disturbance moves over him and like a doll, shameless, will-less, lifeless, Light Yagami is stripped.

He shivers. He feels the warmth on him, the fingers the flesh, all around him; this presence. The sheets shift and it is above him now. Light can feel it. It is shuddering around him, like a wind, like static.

He feels the sharp, alien feeling once more of those fingers on him, of that touch, one which has become so familiar to him. It ripples sharply down his throat and then down past the skin into Light's chest making him shudder and then every muscle in his body tense up at the unnatural contact.

It is stronger than usual. The touch crawls through him. It is clawing over his body. The desperation shudders and gasps in the air, the hysteria, the single fixation, one emotion, one thought, forced into action.

The bed shakes.

And the touching, extreme by nature, is even more so. Light can perceive the form in the dim light, just a pale shadow coiled around him, that strange hot transmutable flesh made real where the contact is.

Then the fingers move to his back, they grip and enter the flesh, the nails tickle at the inner muscle, the warmth permeates. Light shivers and gasps. It is upon him, all over him, his skin is hot, too hot, soaked in sweat. He reaches out to cling to the assailant, the sensation. His hands grip at a hot wet back, the fingers slip with the motion that has now overcome him; he feels damp hair in his grasp.

And then Light Yagami feels his body being raised off the bed. With nothing beneath him the sheets hang over him limply. He is raised higher, the sensation terrifying, and brought upright then pressed to the wall, pinned by his visitor.

Then, then…Light feels that warmth, that flesh sublimating again but this time it is a complete stretch of Light's body, it is from the waist down, and it is far more intimate a sensation. It envelopes his hips, his thighs, his privates, it actually penetrates into his pelvis, into his dick.

It is the most shocking thing that Light has ever experienced, his teeth clench and he gasps and stutters but there is little time for anything else because the sensation consumes him. The hot tingling, the vibrations, the electrifying pulses shake his body from that point where his hips meld with his keeper's.

It is but brief moments, punctuated with Light's head and back banging hard against the wall, and Light is unbearably hard, impossibly tight, already a little wet, a few drops trickling down to his thighs.

The feeling is all consuming, impossibly acute. It roars and thunders through him, it is pulsing through every single nerve, it is massaging every little molecule of the most sensitive of Light's flesh. It is underneath the skin, right down where everything is raw and red and Light can only groan while it thunders through him, his legs dangling down from his suspension in the tangle of sheets.

It increases in intensity in every second. Light moans and pants while his naked body shudders against the wall.

He can feel the other's breath against him, on his face, on his neck, panting. Then he is all over him. Light is moist and slippery with sweat but also something more, like hot condensation.

Light clutches, Light clings, the touch melts into the other. They mingle.

Light is lost. Light is screaming with pleasure.

He comes, ejaculating not once, or even twice, but three times, in succession, each release building upon the last, until there is nothing more for Light's body to yield.

And Light Yagami hangs limp, then slowly his body slides down against the wall, lowered back to the bed.

The damp sheets twist around him. He lies still, curled up on the mattress, naked, panting.

He lies still. His eyelids flicker a little, the delicate lashes fluttering against the sweat and his damp hair.

He feels the warmth beside him, amongst the sheets that are coiled around him.

It is just there. Just close. Just the presence beside him. Light's fingers reach out and coil in the air and then his eyelids slide shut again and he falls unconscious.


	7. The Lover

A/N: A special thankie to Barranca, thanks for for the lovely reviews on this and my other stories! Aaand Funny Concept; I hadn't really thought about but I suppose you could say L's straying quite close to a new...occupation. He is a ghost though really, you can tell because incubususes can be identified by an unnaturally cold penis. (Lol that's according to mr. wikipedia.) So now you know.

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The Lover

The division, the careful separation, the splintering of Light Yagami's life, the regulation that he dedicated such time and effort to, the smooth tape, the reinforced locks, the phone off the hook, changes now.

It becomes in many ways more acute, more severe. How sweetly Light Yagami used to smile, to charm, to flirt even. Now his life has been swiftly separated into those neat partitions; public and private, work and personal.

The mark of a true workaholic, a genius, a dedicated man; his colleagues see little difference in his behaviour. In fact most of them barely perceive any change at all for Light Yagami is still the same polite yet driven young man that he has always been. It is only the bruises they notice, those strange, delicate little colourations on Light's milky skin. No one comments on them.

It does become clearer though to those men who have been working under 'L' for the longest, including that core investigation team that also worked under his late father. Light becomes more withdrawn, more…distant.

Light Yagami's eyes used to glitter, his smile used to radiate a glow. The loyal, veteran members of the team have seen Light change before but the charm that Light possessed has never become so low, so dark, so obscured from sight.

Light is still handsome. Light is still polite. But his polite words are cold and are not provided unless solicited out of necessity. His skin is paler now and his eyes are starting to gain a weary look.

He doesn't socialise like he used to. It used to be his favourite game, the manipulation, the control. Now he doesn't seam to have an interest in any such customs and expectations.

The other day Light left headquarters, his movements still precise and refined, and Matsuda had smiled at him and said goodbye and Light had raised his head to form a immaculate smile and then turned and left. The young man was shocked; Light was the epitome of rigid Japanese manners. He always observed every little polite custom. He always greeted people appropriately. He always said goodbye. Even more disturbing to Matsuda's practiced eyes was that clean, cold smile. It was so thoroughly dissected.

Light did not care about other people anymore. Once he left work he returned to that beautiful, unnatural isolation he had carved for himself.

Ryuk wasn't even there anymore now, a thought that calmed Light every time he put his key into the lock, Light had told him that it was necessary for him to stay away from his apartment now. Ryuk believed that Light had somehow compromised himself in one of his tactics, letting someone touch the death note or a piece of it and now it was unsafe to have a shinigami around where it might be seen. The creature didn't care anyway, Light still brought him apples.

Light had a new routine. The locks and shutters were all gone. Light would light candles around his room then, with their small glow flickering in the dark he would slip into the bed, naked. He would smile at the low light; 'eerie, romantic.'

He smiles at the thudding of his heart, at the deceiving solitude, he lies there naked in his bed, alone, and waits.

At some point in the night then the curtains will shift. The candles will flicker. Sometimes a disturbance shakes them and then with a soft breath they are extinguished. The smoke curls in the air around an indistinct figure.

Then Light feels the sheets shift, the soft first touches on his skin.

His lover joins him.


	8. Anniversary

A/N: Got around to updating, didn't want 'Lolz' to be pissed at me! This is the halloween chapter. I'll probably write three more short chapters and then this'll be done.

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Anniversary

Halloween. It was a time for costumes and masks, for pumpkins and candy. It was a heathen holiday that had claimed its place in the respectable calendar and then contorted itself into a caricature of horror; moulded plastic monsters were peeled back to reveal gap-toothed little innocents hungry for excess. As cheerful as cherubs they skipped down the dark street through wisps of Crete paper and rubber bats on strings. Baring fake fangs and brandishing false claws they bore all the pageantry of the grotesque with they rang at doorbells and chimed out their devious little incantation.

The most expensive apartments have security though, beautiful little keypads and electronic doors. Light Yagami looks down upon the distant streets through wide smoked windows. He looks down upon the children and all the games of the season. He is alone in his apartment; his own little pageantry, his own disguise. A malformed isolation with a twisted smile, he smoothes his hair and wanders away from the glass.

His home is decorated modestly for this season, just in warm velvet of the right colours, and candles and candy. He sips wine, expensive wine from pretty sculpted glass. He hangs his arm down and his fingers trail along the side of the wall. Into the bedroom.

Here the room is lit by candles, a beautiful atmosphere, he sets down his glass upon the window sill and the bottle beside it. To the left; a big glass bowl of sweets. He absent-mindedly runs his fingers through the brightly-coloured confectionary. He bought them because it is custom and Light observes all custom, all politeness, all of society's little rules. There are no children here. However he feared that someone might visit him, a work colleague, an odd acquaintance. No one had ventured out though; the pains which Light had taken carefully and subtly over the last few months had reaped a rich harvest. He had cut everyone away neatly, close the blade to the skin.

It became late and Light brought the red velvet curtains together and slid the silk of his shirt down his back. Alone, he undressed and Lay in his bed. He had his red eyeballs open in the low light, a finger curled and twisted in his lips, he embraced his madness.

He wrapped the sheets around his naked flesh, arched his back and sighed, wide eyes then fluttering, a swift cyclone in his brain, he turned and curled up into a hot red oblivion.

It has many months since it began now, the time has run red rings around Light's crazed eyes; intersecting circles, ever decreasing spirals. Such red, mad eyes. Such wide bloody eyes. His skin is a little pale, the sockets a little hollow. A soft chuckle rattles against the windowpane, _beloved_, a hot sweet mixture; malice melts into obscene adoration. _Beloved, now._

There are secrets that Light does not know. So fond of custom but he does not consult the calendar, he does not observe the myths. Names and faces, names, they are not the core secrets. It is all time and date that matters. There was one who knew that before Light, how ironic, but that thought is not there, not now, a soft purpose manifests. _Love, now_…

The glass mists, breath upon the window, softly, gradually. Then, in this condensation, the hot shape of one palm, pressed up against the glass. Another follows, the flesh hard against the smooth surface. He hangs in the wind as it blows all about.

He can see his own reflection in the windowpane. The black eyes, the black hair, the white skin. L smiles, his own eyes glittering at the corresponding apparition before him. His smile breaks wide in delirium, in ecstasy, in pure complete open mind and knowledge and feeling.

Tonight, his secret, all the lines are crossed, it is midnight, it is Halloween, it is birth, it is death it is all round full circle it is all here and cut and his fingers twist open the latch, It is beyond birthday.

Incarnation!

L stepped into the room, his bare feet upon the floor, his toes curling at the rich soft carpet. He leans back, his lean form warmed by the moonlight. He stood with the night behind him, his head lowered, his curious eyes upon the young man upon the bed.

Light stirs gradually, his eyes fluttering, from in-between the sheets, he can see the softest, deftest of movement. He raises his eyes to find the slight disturbance, the shuddering in the air, to rest upon smooth white shoulders tilted, an inclined white neck, soft black hair, half concealed eyes cast to one side while slowly, carefully, long white fingers drew up a yellow-wrapped sweet.

The fingers twisted the wrapper. The sound crackled.

The sheets slid down, Light's shoulders locked, his eyes fixed.

L's eyes flickered to him, bright, black intelligent. Slowly, slowly the fingers raised the piece of candy upwards, up to quivering lips, before pushing it past them to meet a curling tongue. The lips met, the mouth satisfied. L's eyes, half-lidded rest on Light with warmth, a smile spreads across those lips.

He walks slowly across the room, Light watches every swift movement of regular limbs, of lean taught muscle. The soft movement of silky black hair.

Then he is there, leaning over Light, his hair hanging down, his black eyes close. He reaches out carefully, smooth deliberate movement, to press his hand to Light's cheek. Warm flesh meets warm flesh. Light's breath is stolen. His lips tremble. L smiles softly then, his eyelashes fluttered and he leant down to make their lips meet.

With his eyes closed Light felt the warmth and weight of L's lips, the sweet reality of his kiss.

The bed moaned under the weight of another as L climbed on top of Light. Light could feel L's warm breath on his face, the other man's forehead pressed against his own, his hair pressed against his skin, his nose just touching his cheek.

True flesh and yet more than normal flesh. The ghost kisses him and his mouth is all hot and warm and wet, just as it should be, as it should be. Light moans softly wrapping his arms tightly around the other man. _L, L, L…_

Trance-like, in tenderness and passion, Light runs his hands over the hot flesh, the warm skin. He touches and kisses while a warm blush runs over L. His skin is sensitive, white and new. Temporary and immaculate. He shudders where the tips of Light's fingers tickle him.

'This isn't real,' he thinks, it can't be, even while he feels L's lips across his bare chest, as he feels the breath and the hot tangible skin. It is real though, that is the facts, there is no ghost here, there is no madness, there is just the man whom he has held all his obsessions and thrown all his cards. The man he has murdered, resurrect, erect, and now sweetly beginning to make love to him.

Light feels the man's hands pushing him down roughly and stares up into L's wide black eyes and as he does so he feels the room shake and then he is back in his own open confinement, there is the chain and he sees L beside him as they were and are and always will be. And L is on him, L is fucking him now, and it is real, it's far too real.

It is breaking Light.

The room, the world becomes but a distortion and it all becomes the past and Light believes it is the past. The dark room is headquarters. This room is the room they shared. The time since L's death never past. L is not dead, no, he isn't he can't be, he is here, 'he is fucking me.'

It is breaking Light.

He is quite mad. And he is quite delirious. L gasps on top of him, his skin glistens with sweat, it is wet and warm and Light can feel it across his thighs and stomach while the other man moves against him, swift powerful thrusts. He reaches up to tangle his fingers in L's hair and moans.

Then there is just the rhythm and the true madness where Light becomes lost in that sick, unearthly pleasure. Then in that blur, comes the climax and Light feels the other warm, fleshy body shudder with him as feels himself cum. His fingers tremble and he whimpers, his voice hidden by his visitor's panting. His visitation's panting. L lowers him down while Light lies limply like a rag doll.

Light is weak and lifeless upon the bed, his head turned away to one side upon the pillow, the black-eyed man stares at him a while, running his fingertips over the man's skin. Light's eyes are closed, he lies still and breathes shallow breaths. L brushes aside a strand of wet hair and then rises from the bed to cross the room.

No hesitation, no uncertainty this time; he curls his fleshy fingers around the candy dish and raises it up. His glee spills over into a giggle, pure exaltation. He moves back to the bed, his white skin shining in the moonlight, and sits back down upon it.

Turning back to Light he unwraps a sweet and presses into his mouth. Anouther sound of pure delight. The pleasures of the flesh; how one could miss them. He leant over Light while he sucked, observing curiously how the man had curled in upon himself slightly.

"What about the cameras?" Lights voice wavered, weakly. L titled his head, his eyes surprised. Light shuddered and pressed his fingers in upon his wrist where the handcuffs should be.

L placed the dish down to the other side of him, settled amongst the sheets and then reached over to wrap his arms around his Light, cuddling up close to him. He stroked the boy's hair and ran his hands over his arms and chest. They lay together, in the hallowed night's embrace.

* * *

A/N: When I say 'It is beyond birthday' that refers to the fact that Halloween is L's birthday. It seemed like a cool reference but BB has nothing to do with this story, thought I'd better make that clear! The whole secret behind L being able to become manifest on Halloween is the double power of it being the festival of the dead and his birthday falling on it. This means he can re-incarnate for the night and indulge in physical pleasures! ;D

Light starts to lose it though and gets confused about where he even is! He'll be...better though by the next chapter.


	9. Morning after and days beyond

A/N: Just another short chapter. After this I think I'll write the ending, and that's pretty short too I think. It's time this little ghost story came to a close. It also becoming dangerously fluffy in this chapter! :O

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In the morning Light awakes, a gradual stirring where his eyes flutter erratically and his aching limbs flex. His fingers glide across the sheets to catch upon a crumpled wrapper. He turns his head and lifts himself up to survey the damage. He is naked and alone amongst frenzied tussled sheets, the whole bed bestrewn with candy wrappers. The empty dish lies against the window, shining in the dawn's light.

Light moans and tosses his head, his hair is a little too long now, a little lank, too much sweat. His lips part and his mind runs carefully in little rivers. He glides his fingers down and feels the wetness over his thighs and abdomen. The white stickiness is extensive, it could be a mixture of two, Light can still feel the cold traces of his visitation.

He runs his hands over his wrists and in the light feels calmer, more clear. He blinks and looks pretty again, underneath the haggard effects, young and beautiful.

He rises and pulls the sheets along in the trail to dump in the bathroom laundry basket. There he turns on the shower and cleans himself, a thorough lengthy procedure. Once that is done he must change and clean the rest of the sheets and tidy the house up; he makes his plans. Stepping out Light wraps a towel around his waist and proceeds to the sink to comb through his hair.

He stops however to regard the smooth glass. Upon the mirror, in what looks like…honey, reads two Ls and a small x. It trails off awkwardly however and is a complete mess. Light runs his wet fingers through it.

Downstairs he founds the jar of honey, smashed and accompanied by a sticky mess. The rest of the kitchen is not as neat as it should be either. Light picks through the wrappers and broken glass.

Over the next few days Light recovers much of his looks, his calm, his sanity. He smiles easier now. Things seem simpler now, clearer.

He's come to make some observations about his lover's new form. Since Halloween his presence has been more marked, stronger. He comes in the evenings and Light is usually aware of him when he arrives. It appears that L can either appear visually or he can affect things physically, but bot usually both at once.

While Light sits in the evenings furniture creeks and moves around, things get knocked over and he hears the creeks of floorboards and doors. Most often he feels the movement of cushions upon the seat around him as L sits beside him and pushes them about.

One evening with his head leant back on the chair, Light sat lazily reading, flicking the page across as his warm eyes scanned across the words. With a soft fluttering Light saw the page flip over again. He moved it back once more only to have it flick back again. He flushed and flicked the pages back and forth while L teased him.

When the nights come Light feels the company while he readies for bed. His lover is with him at all times now, asserting is presence in any way he can and interacting with Light. Light smiles while he holds the tooth paste over his toothbrush and watched it condense, apparently by itself. The toothpaste comes out a little too much, but still Light smiles to show he's impressed with the progress.

Then in the night he feels the ghost wind around him and they kiss and touch as naturally as any couple.


	10. The Last Embrace

Does L know what is happening now? Does L know?

Did L know what was happening through the wires and in his work? Did he know about it all, the trials and the burning building where Takada's flesh melted? Did he think of his remnants and how they must progress, did he know how they chased and chased and their investigations proceeded?

Oh god now, oh god where are you now? What am I now? Where am I now. I would have taken a bite, to wrap my lips around, and oh god now; Light's thoughts are a sliding knife through the recesses of his brain. They call into those parts that shudder and he can feel his smooth face over-run with something like tears.

L was no god of death, L was just a victim. His victim. Not a pet which Light could play and subdue, no empty shimmering remembrance either. That shuddering whisper in the night, that answer to his soul, an answer or an assailant.

My sweet counterpart, my enemy, my destiny, he feels laughter echo in his throat and his eyes are impaired under the descending sun.

That man of calculation and genius, now of such a different form, of what manner of thoughts and emotion? What form of composition? Does he know?

Light's thoughts are so frightened though, his mind pure and desperate. He has so much to think about, so many questions and he cannot bear to confront them. He will laugh and he will cry and he will beg and he will feel the shame shake his bones.

He will feel dirty and desperate but he will run from this place, from these thoughts. His nails scratch the stone and he feels such fear that he can scarce express.

And it is hurting now and Light does not know. He does not know so much. He is a jaded man and he is weak, he is a child.

He will crumble.

He will lie here in the shadow of the sun, how it dazzles his eyes. His lips rest parted and his soul begs.

The light is blinding and the shadows cover him. He does not know now. He does not know anything much anymore.

But he will see the shape, so fragile before him.

He will listen to the sound of his own breathing as it is so steady and slowing.

It reaches for him carefully.

How it has stalked him, how it has waited. It has been desperate and deviant but now it is gentle because now he is here before him and he is bloody and vulnerable like a small rabbit caught by the dogs with the deep tooth-marks in its chest. L can watch Light's chest rise and fall and see the blood upon his shirt and he feels a tender peace deep within him.

He knows that ache that consumes him and that he loves this being with more than love, something stronger and altogether more complex. Every part of him waits with sweetness and when the last breath is drawn he can reach out and take what he has being longing for.

And there will be no flesh and there will be no fear and there will be no hate. There will only be the moment when they wind around one another and their minds touch and mingle. Then they will be together and there will be only a body upon these steps, abandoned while they are gone.

He shall embrace him once more, one last time, to enfold him into himself for all eternity.

While the sun sets on this dead world.


	11. Murder Most Foul Extra

A/N: This is the end of the fanfic now, I just have one more thing to attend to. When I originally wrote this I had a song in mind which inspired it so I thought I'd include the lyrics and the links here. The band are just and unsigned/indie goth and all the music is available to download for free.

* * *

Murder Most Foul

In a rotten wooden box I lay sleeping in the ground.  
Dreaming of all the ways I will haunt you.

A murder most foul  
I will never forget when you took my life.  
It wasnt yours for the taking.

My soul is in a state of unrest.  
Drifting on this earth, my only purpose...  
To gladly aid your suffering.

Every night I rise, feeding on your fear.  
Every night I rise, feeding on your fear.

I love it when you feel my breath brushing upon your skin.  
It drives you mad, sensing me deep within.

I will haunt you forever.  
I will haunt you forever.

Every night I rise, feeding on your fear.  
Every night I rise, feeding on your fear.

* * *

You can listen and download at soundclick here: (doubleyous)soundclick(dot)com/bands/page_?bandID=391108&songID=3105043

Thanks to everyone who read this fic please leave me a review. x


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